


Put Your Back Into It

by sneaqui



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Steve Rogers, Dirty Talk, Experienced Steve Rogers, First Time, M/M, Pining, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Sharing a Bed, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 22:38:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17569250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneaqui/pseuds/sneaqui
Summary: “It’s fine, Buck. I put a blanket over the dip. Sleep like a baby.”“The entire mattress is a dip.”Steve drops his arms, says, “Don’t be so dramatic,” and turns around to walk back into the kitchen, like he thinks Bucky’s just gonna drop it so he can go back to sleeping on his bed of nails. Well, he’s got another think coming.





	Put Your Back Into It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kalika_999](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/gifts).



> Written for the lovely and endlessly patient [Kali](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/pseuds/kalika_999) who paid good money for me to write Stucky first time/bed sharing with a side of dirty talk. Thank you again for being so awesome and fun to write for, bb. <3 <3 <3 <3

Bucky’s feet land heavy on his final trip up the three flights of stairs, the tenth and final box - full of china that his ma insisted he have - squeezed in between his biceps.

Steve is on the landing when he gets there, hunched against the hallway phone, handset pressed against his good ear. His mouth flaps open and shut a few times before he’s finally able to get the words out. “Yeah-- I mean, yes ma’am, we’ll be there. Thank you, Mrs. Barnes.” He looks up at Bucky from underneath his bangs, skin around his eyes crinkling when he winces. “Yes, ma’am,” he says. “He’s right here.” He holds out the handset to Bucky, mumbles, “Sorry.”

Bucky sighs and shifts the box higher up into his arms. He puts his ear against the handset when Steve holds it up, leans almost backwards so he can talk into the receiver. “Hey, ma,” he says.

“I knew you’d leave something behind. You forgot grandad’s chess set. Did you want your sister to bring it--”

“Ma, it’s fine,” Bucky says, making an effort to keep his tone gentle. “Me and Steve are gonna be there for dinner tomorrow night. We can take it back with us then.”

Steve holds an arm out like he intends to take some of the weight of the box out of Bucky’s hands, but Bucky shoos him away with a toe to his ankle and a stern look before he can get any funny ideas.

Steve sighs and frumps back against the peeling wallpaper, still holding the handset up to Bucky’s ear. He’s stripped down to his undershirt, and his cheeks and his chest just below the hollow of his throat are flushed from exertion. His hair is brown at the roots with sweat, and a droplet forms at his temple, drips down the hinge of his jaw--

“James Barnes, are you listening to me?”

Bucky looks quickly away from Steve, takes a deep breath to reorient himself. “Yeah, ma. Sorry. We’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Anything we should bring?”

A pause, and Bucky knows he’s screwed up even before his ma says, low and dangerous, “What would you bring that I don’t have?”

_

Five minutes later, Bucky finally makes it into the apartment with the last box.

Steve walks in behind him, shuts the door, and throws the lock. “She’s never gonna forgive me,” he sighs.

“She will. Eventually,” Bucky says, placing the box carefully on the dining table. He steps back and shakes his shoulders out.

“Taking her only son away from her,” Steve says. He’s already sorting through a wooden crate containing Sarah Rogers’ old stoneware, making sure nothing broke in the move. “It’d be easier if she just scolded me.”

Bucky laughs. “Trust me, Steve,” he says, “you don’t want her to do that.”

“Should I bring something tomorrow night?” Steve says. “Flowers?” He wipes his palms down his thighs. “Are the stalls out on Sundays?”

“Would you knock it off?” Bucky leans back against the laundry tub, puts his palms up on the wooden slab covering it. “Stop worrying about my ma. We’re doing a good thing here. We’ve been waiting to get our own place for a long time. Aren’t you happy?”

Steve looks up at Bucky, eyes drifting down his chest on their way to the floor. He takes a deep breath, says, “Yeah. Of course, Buck. It’s just a big change is all.”

Bucky drops his hands so he can shove them into his pockets, says, “You regretting moving in with me?”

The words come out gravelly, and Bucky clears his throat and turns away. He doesn’t mean to sound so wounded, but he’d been hoping Steve was looking forward to this day as much as he was.

“Of course I’m not regretting it, Buck,” Steve says with conviction, but it’s undercut by him mumbling once again, “It’s just-- It’s a big change.”

Bucky keeps his head turned away from Steve, walks into the parlor before he says something he’ll regret. _Hey, if you’re so keen on nothing changing, why don’t_ you _move back in with my ma?_

Bucky steps over Steve’s mattress where they’ve laid it down on the parlor floor, throws open the window leading out to the fire escape. He pulls his pack of smokes out of his back pocket, drops down onto the mattress-- and sinks right through it, ass hitting the floor below it so hard it hurts.

Bucky frowns, stands up, and sits down again in a different spot. Are there even springs in this thing? He gets up on all fours, reaches out to test the mattress in various spots. He does find the springs: if you press down hard enough they poke through the padding.

The floorboards squeak as Steve walks into the parlor. “Buck? Are you alright?”

Bucky takes a deep breath, tries to keep his tone even when he says, “Please, tell me you haven’t been sleeping on this thing.”

Bucky can almost hear Steve crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I wasn’t gonna bother my ma about buying a new mattress when she was dying of T.B., Buck.”

Bucky is up on his feet before Steve is even finished speaking. “You’ve been sleeping on this thing for _years_ , Steve. With scoliosis. You mean to tell me your ma never offered to buy you a new one?”

“There were more important things to spend money on.”

“Like the _two_ Christmas presents you bought me last year?”

Steve sighs, like Bucky’s the one who’s being an idiot here. “It’s fine, Buck. I put a blanket over the dip. Sleep like a baby.”

“The entire mattress is a dip.”

Steve drops his arms, says, “Don’t be so dramatic,” and turns around to walk back into the kitchen, like he thinks Bucky’s just gonna drop it so he can go back to sleeping on his bed of nails. Well, he’s got another think coming.

Bucky turns around to poke his head out of the parlor window. It’s early enough in spring that there’s still a damp chill in the air, and there aren’t many people out on stoops or kids playing in the street yet.

Bucky spots one group of boys sketching out a skelly board across the street. He puts his fingers in his mouth and whistles, calls out, “Hey, kid,” to see who’ll look up first.

The smallest among them is up on his feet in an instant. “What?” he yells up at Bucky.

“Keep the sidewalk clear for me for the next couple minutes, would you?” Bucky yells back down.

“What’s in it for me?” The kid says.

Bucky grins. “You’ll see.” He ducks back into the apartment, grabs one end of the mattress and shoves it through the window, gets his arms around the middle of it and keeps shoving. He’s gotta get it out of the apartment before Steve catches wise.

No sooner has he thought it than Steve is at his back, yelling, “Buck, stop!”

But it’s too late, Bucky’s already got it balanced on the fire escape railing, leaning his whole torso out of the window so it doesn’t tip over before he’s ready.

“All clear, kid?” he shouts.

“Hold it!” the lookout shouts up to Bucky. He steps into the street to take a good look around, and then steps back onto the sidewalk. “Alright,” he shouts, “Now.”

“Buck, don’t,” Steve says in a low growl.

Bucky takes a quick look at the sidewalk below to make sure it’s clear and opens his hands. The mattress tips over the railing, flips once in the air, and lands with a slap on the street below.

The gang of boys surround it before the dust has even settled, laughing and lifting it above their heads.

The lookout yells up to Bucky, “Can we have this?”

“Do whatever you want with it, kid,” Bucky calls down. “Thanks for the help.”

The kid gives Bucky a big grin and ducks under the mattress. Within a couple of minutes it’s gone, born down the sidewalk on eight pairs of skinny legs.

Bucky pulls himself back into the apartment, turns around to see Steve standing in the middle of the parlor, hands clenched at his sides and steel in his eyes.

“Look,” Bucky says, “my bed is a double. Plenty of room for both of us until we can get you a new mattress.”

“You had no right,” Steve says.

“No, I didn’t,” Bucky agrees. “But you’re not sleeping on that mattress.” He strides past Steve into the kitchen, says over his shoulder, “You wanna yell at me? That’s fine. Just help me unpack while you’re doing it.”

-

Steve doesn’t yell at him; he’s deathly-silent which is even scarier. They unpack without a word spoken between them, each going to their own little corner of the apartment to arrange their stuff.

Bucky makes up some story about having a date, and he ducks out around suppertime. He takes a few bottles of beer over to his friend Millie’s place, stays out as late as he can before she gets sick of his griping and kicks him out.

When Bucky gets home, he’s pleased to see his plan has worked - Steve has given in and gone to sleep in Bucky’s bed in his absence.

Of course, Bucky should know better than to think Steve would just leave it at that. The next night, it’s Steve that doesn’t join Bucky in bed until well past midnight, smelling like cologne - like he always does after he goes out with his art school friends.

They go back and forth like that for days. And because Bucky’s a creep, he wakes up every morning pressed against Steve’s back, cock throbbing hard where it’s pressed up against Steve’s rear. And every morning he has to slip away before Steve wakes so he can jerk himself off in the hallway bathroom, visions of Steve’s ass and his mouth and his hands flashing behind Bucky’s eyelids.

-

Of course, Bucky’s always the first one to give in, so he calls a truce a couple weeks later.

He walks into the kitchen and leans against the icebox, watches Steve as he scoops chicken bones out of a pot of soup.

“Let’s go out tonight,” Bucky says. “Just me and you.”

Steve doesn’t turn around, but Bucky can hear the smirk in his voice when he says, “You sick of getting lucky, Barnes?”

“Steve,” is all Bucky can think to say, hoping his tone conveys that he doesn’t want to fight anymore. That he’s missed Steve awfully these past few days.

Steve’s shoulders fall. “I’m sorry, Buck. It’s just been--”

“Hard. Yeah, I know, Stevie.”

Steve turns around finally, but still won’t look at Bucky. He crosses his arms in front of his chest, says, “I still miss her like hell, Buck. I know she’s been gone for almost two years, but…”

Bucky is silent, giving Steve time to speak. At last, he continues, “That apartment was one of the few things I had left of her.”

“I know, Stevie,” he says, and he does know. But he’s also selfish when it comes to Steve. And frustrated when he can’t make things right. “I just want you to be happy,” he says, and then presses his mouth shut before he says something else stupid.

“I’m happy we got our own place,” Steve says. He looks up at Bucky at last, flashes him a small smile. “I am. It’s just gonna take some adjustment. Even that damn mattress… I should’ve gotten a new one years ago, but after she died it just-- it felt like I was betraying her somehow.”

“She wouldn’t want you to live like that, Steve.”

“I know,” Steve says on a long sigh. His mouth flattens into a line and he says to Bucky, “Just don’t go buying me a new one, alright? Spring’s coming. I won’t have to take as many sick days. I can buy myself a new one.”

“Alright,” Bucky agrees, even though he knows he’s gonna have to ride Steve’s ass about it. “C’mon, let’s go out. Get a drink. I won’t even make you dance.” He gives Steve a manful clap on the shoulder as he walks past him and toward the parlor. “We can grab a bite at the automat before we go.”

“You don’t want to eat my soup?” Steve says to Bucky’s back.

It’s so close to his ma’s nagging that the hair stands up on the back of Bucky’s neck. He freezes, says, “Uh.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Steve says, the punk. “Let’s go.”

-

Bucky doesn’t dance that night. They get a small table with a view of the floor, drink too much and crack wise about people. They laugh until they’re falling out of their chairs. They stay until the place shuts down, and then they stumble home and collapse side-by-side in Bucky’s bed.

-

Reliable as a rooster, Bucky wakes up at the crack of dawn pressed against Steve’s back with a raging hard-on.

He lifts his hand off of Steve’s hip, starts to turn out of bed, and is caught by a warm, strong grip around his wrist. Bucky’s breath catches in his throat, and he looks down to see Steve staring up at him.

“Don’t,” Steve says, voice deep and rough from sleep, his eyes black in the dark.

Bucky’s heart thumps in his chest.

He watches as Steve guides his hand back down to his hip, hooks Bucky’s thumb beneath the waistband of his boxer shorts to pull them down his thighs. Steve wriggles his ass to get out of them, rubbing against Bucky’s cock in the process.

A sudden wave of lust crashes over Bucky, and he surges forward, closing any remaining distance between them to plaster himself along Steve’s back, from chest to thigh. He yanks his own boxers down, leans forward to bite down on Steve’s shoulder so he doesn’t let out a neighbor-alerting moan as his cock slides nice and easy between Steve’s ass cheeks.

Steve sighs out, “Yes,” and grinds his ass back into the cradle of Bucky’s pelvis, peach-soft skin pulsing against Bucky’s cock until it’s blood-hot and throbbing.

Steve turns his head and lets out a moan between wet, parted lips, and Bucky has to stop himself from thoughtlessly kissing him. Kissing would make this real, would make it more than just two people fumbling around in the dark.

It’s Steve that steps over that line, of course. He twists around, presses his lips to Bucky’s.

The angle is a little off, and when they open their mouths to each other and press their tongues together, they smear each other’s lips and chins with saliva. Bucky hums and slides his arm beneath Steve’s head, tilts it back onto his bicep so he can kiss Steve deeper as they rub against each other.

He reaches around to cup Steve's balls, trail his fingertips up the length of his cock. It's warm and velvety, and when he wraps his hand around it and starts to stroke, it swells to fill his palm.

Bucky is struck with the sudden and urgent need to see what he can only glimpse from this angle. He breathes against Steve’s lips, “I want to see you,” and nudges Steve’s shoulder until he gets the hint and lays down on his back.

Bucky gets off the bed so he can get his clothes off quicker, and freezes when he looks up, undershirt still in hand. Steve has removed his own shirt and boxers and now lies completely naked, stretched out before Bucky on the mattress.

The sun is just starting to come up and Steve’s pale skin glows in the blue light, soft and unearthly white from his thighs to his throat. His cock is hard and curves up over his belly, the tip pink and peaking out of his foreskin.

“You alright there, Buck?” Steve says, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

“God, I wanna fuck you,” Bucky says, not entirely sure where the words come from.

But when Steve moans and grips his cock, Bucky figures he should probably come up with some more. That shouldn’t be a problem, not with the way Steve stares into Bucky’s eyes as he strokes himself, plants his feet on the mattress and lets his thighs fall open.

Bucky crawls back onto the mattress, his cock heavy and throbbing between his legs. He gets between Steve’s thighs, nudges his knees beneath Steve’s ass, and leans forward to kiss him--

His back twinges in warning, the muscles seizing his spine. “Ah, fuck,” he spits out. He sits back on his heels, grabs his lower back, and tries to knead the muscles there loose with the tips of his fingers.

“Buck?” Steve says. “What’s wrong?” He frowns in concern, his lips wet and kiss-swollen. Bucky’s tempted to lean back down and just go to town on him, back be damned.

Bucky groans, both in desire and frustration. “I’m fine. Just don’t think this angle is gonna work. Back’s hurting from lifting all those damn boxes.”

Steve leans up on his hands, says, “Can you lie down and let me do the work?”

“Uh,” Bucky says, the visual making his balls tighten. “Yeah. Yeah, that’d work.”

Steve smirks as he guides Bucky to turn around and lay back, gets on top of him and sits down in his lap. They both sigh contentedly when the position presses their cocks together once again.

Bucky leans up to pull Steve down against his chest, and Steve follows him down about halfway before he spits out, “Shit.” He pushes himself back up to sitting with a grimace on his face.

“This isn’t gonna work either,” Steve says, shaking his head. “Sit up.”

“What?” Bucky’s dick is so hard that his brain isn’t working like it should.

“Sit up, stupid,” Steve says. “So your back’s against the wall.” He nudges at Bucky’s hips with his knees until he scootches up to the top of the mattress.

Once Bucky’s situated with his back propped up against their pillows, he looks up at Steve, wide-eyed and desperate. “Good?” he asks, fisting the sheets in his hands so he doesn’t start pawing at Steve again before he’s ready.

“Let’s see,” Steve says, smiling. He leans forward to press his chest to Bucky’s and kiss him. “Yeah,” he says against Bucky’s lips. “This is good.”

Bucky palms Steve’s ass, kneading it and pulling it forward so Steve can grind his dick against Bucky’s stomach as they kiss. His thighs and his belly tremble with desire, and he grabs desperately at Steve’s back, his shoulders, slides a hand up into Steve’s hair and tilts his head so he can suck on his neck.

“Fuck, _Steve_. Show me how to make you feel good, baby. You want my mouth? My fingers? My cock? Gonna make you come so hard.”

Steve groans, and the muscles in his shoulders and back ripple as a shudder runs through him. He says, “Bucky Barnes asking me for advice. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Yeah, but I’ve only done it with girls,” Bucky says.

Steve goes rigid, and Bucky can feel his heart thumping in his chest.

They’ve never spoken about this, the fact that Bucky knows why Steve comes home smelling like cologne after he’s gone out with his art school friends.

He strokes his palms down Steve’s back, touches their foreheads together, and says, “I ain’t mad, Steve. Means you know what to do, right? How I can make you feel good? I’ll do anything, honey, anything. Been thinking about this, thinking about you for years.”

“ _Buck._ ”

“Don’t care if you’ve been with anyone else. You’re not gonna remember any of them after tonight.” Bucky lets his lips trail along Steve’s jaw, says in between wet kisses to his pulse point, “Gonna fuck you so good, only name you’ll remember is mine.”

Steve moans, and then he’s jumping up and striding into the kitchen. Bucky hears him tear open a box and dive into the crumpled-up newspaper inside of it. A minute later, he walks back into the room with a jar of Vaseline in his hand.

He crawls back onto the mattress and kneels between Bucky’s spread thighs, gives Bucky’s dick - curving proudly up over his belly - a thoughtful look.

He runs a hand up Bucky’s shaft, swirls his thumb through the pre-come dripping from the tip. “We might not even need the Vaseline,” Steve says, sounding amused. He smiles up at Bucky, shakes his bangs out of his eyes. “But it’ll make it better.” He uncaps the Vaseline to scoop out a globule, coats Bucky’s cock with it in slow, hard strokes.

The slide of his dick through Steve’s warm, slick fist punches a gasp out of Bucky, and clenches his fists in the sheets and fucks up into Steve’s hand just once before it’s gone. He looks down to see Steve scoop a little more Vaseline out of the tin, reach behind himself to smear it-- to put it--

“Steve. Are you-- _fuck_ ,” Bucky whines as Steve straddles his lap. His knees grip Bucky’s hips as he takes hold of Bucky’s cock, starts to sink down onto it.

Bucky sobs as Steve’s asshole envelopes the tip of his cock. He takes a deep breath and stutters out, “What-- What do I-- _Steve_.”

“Just gotta go slow, Buck, that’s all.” Steve’s voice is a deep rumble, and his eyes are glassy and fixed on Bucky as he sinks down tortuously slow. “You just gotta stay nice and hard for me. Can you do that?”

“ _Fuck_. Yeah, I can do that.” The feel of Steve warm and slick around him has Bucky’s gut clenching and his cock throbbing, and he presses his forehead to Steve’s sternum, pulls in desperate gulps of air. “Oh, _God_ , Steve.”

Bucky would have never believed until he experienced it for himself that Steve could take his cock like this, but his body opens up and lets Bucky in, slowly, so damn slowly that Bucky’s the one who feels like he might split apart.

He gets two handfuls of Steve’s ass, digs his fingers in and pulls Steve’s cheeks apart, squeezes them back together before doing it again, needing to feel in control somehow when really he’s just keeping his hands busy before he goes out of his mind or blows his load too soon.

Steve sighs and covers Bucky’s hands with him own. His walls pulse around Bucky’s cock once more as he slides down the remaining inch, until his Bucky’s balls are pressed up against his hole.

Steve pauses, mouth fallen open and eyebrows pinched together as he adjusts to Bucky inside of him. He inhales, breathes out, “Oh, Buck. You’re perfect,” and starts up a slow, small undulation that slides his ass forward and back on Bucky’s thighs.

Bucky moans and dips his fingers down into Steve’s crease so he can run his fingertips around the place where they’re joined. His mouth starts to run, “Fuck, yes, Stevie. Never felt anything so damn good.”

“Fuck, Bucky,” Steve groans, a note of pain in his voice, and Bucky’s about to ask him if he’s alright when he says, “Buck, my back. You’re gonna have to hold me up. Don’t wanna stop, please.” He grabs Bucky’s hands and places them across his lower back so that Bucky can hold him up as he fucks himself on Bucky’s cock, a slow, filthy grind that has them both panting and cursing.

“God, Steve,” Bucky groans as he digs his fingers into Steve’s back, rolls his hips so that Steve doesn’t have to do so much of the work. “Feel so sweet around my dick, sugar. Fits just right. Like it was made for you. Like I was made for you.”

Bucky doesn’t know if Steve shivers at Bucky’s words or the fact that he’s now found the perfect angle, one that has him writhing in Bucky’s lap. Sweat rolls down his neck, his chest, catches on one of the pink peaks of his nipples, and Bucky just has to lean forward and lave his tongue over it. He rubs it back and forth over the hard nub, watches as goosebumps break out on Steve’s arms.

“This little waist. These tight little nipples. God, _Steve_. Wanna spend the rest of my life fucking you.”

“Feels so good, Buck. Don’t stop. Faster.”

And the last word isn’t even out of Steve’s mouth before Bucky plants his feet on the mattress and grips Steve’s hipbones so he can fuck up into him, deep, long strokes that don’t jostle him too much, that keep them both in an endless loop of pleasure.

Steve’s eyes roll back in his head and he lets out a sound like he’s been punched in the gut. He falls forward against Bucky’s chest, arms thrown over Bucky's shoulders and face pressed to his neck. He lets out a full-body shudder and clenches hard around Bucky’s dick, cries out, “Oh, God. _Buck_. Fuck me.” His hair soaking wet now, his face and his chest and even his thighs blotched with red.

A possessiveness rises up in Bucky, having Steve likes this. And it’s something he’s felt before, but never like this, never this fierce. He could keep Steve here forever, taking him.

He’s supporting all of Steve’s weight now. Steve’s ass is cradled in his palms, and Bucky holds it open so he thrust his cock into Steve as deep as possible. He looks down to see that Steve’s cock is purpling at the tip, looking ready to go off just from being fucked. But Bucky doesn’t know if he can last that long.

“Oh, fuck, Steve. Oh God, baby, you’re gonna make me come. Can I come inside you? Please let me come inside you.”

“Yes,” Steve sighs out, and the instant the word falls from his lips, Bucky buries himself up to his balls in Steve’s body and shoots inside of him. His orgasm rips through him in violent waves, and he bites down hard on his bottom lip as an ecstatic sob tears out of his throat.

He’s still shivering through the aftershocks, ears ringing, when he realizes that Steve still hasn’t come. He’s rocking back and forth on Bucky’s dick, and growls in frustration when it softens and slips out.

Bucky’s still light-headed from his own orgasm, but he surges forward, lays Steve back on the mattress. “Show me,” he pants.

Steve guides three of Bucky’s fingers inside his body, fucks himself desperately down onto them as he fists his own cock.

Bucky’s come, still hot and slick, eases the thrust of his fingers into Steve's body. It leaks out of Steve’s hole around Bucky's knuckles, drips off of them onto the mattress. All Bucky can do is stare, mouth hanging open.

“Curl them a little,” Steve says, and when Bucky does, Steve bellows out a sob, reaches up to clench his fist in Bucky’s hair.

And there goes Bucky’s mouth, running again. “Never gonna be another,” he babbles. “This is it, Steve. For the rest of my life, I swear.” He ducks his head down to press a wet kiss to the skin just above Steve’s asshole.

As soon as he does, Steve’s thighs lock up around Bucky’s ears, and Bucky feels it when he comes, feels it when his balls draw up, feels his hole clenching and quivering around Bucky’s fingers.

But Bucky needs to see him, and as soon as Steve’s thighs unclench, he lifts his head, watches as the last pulse of come spurts out of Steve’s cock. A thick trail of it runs from his throat, down the center of his heaving chest, into the dip of his belly.

“ _Fuck_ , Bucky,” Steve moans, his skin goose pebbled and shivering as he breathes through the comedown, as Bucky slowly pulls his fingers out.

“Good?” Bucky asks, ducking down to kiss Steve's hipbone.

“No, awful,” Steve says, grinning, almost giddy.

Bucky reaches down to twist his nipple in retaliation, thinking that Steve will fight back, but all Steve does is laugh and then groan through another full-bodied shudder.

“Huh,” Bucky says and is about to reach down to do it again when Steve bats his hand away.

“Save it for later, Barnes,” Steve says. “Go get me something to clean up with.” He kicks feebly at Bucky until he goes.

It takes him a minute, but Bucky finally finds a torn but clean dish rag in one of the boxes. He takes it back to bed to wipe Steve down, lets Steve pull him under the covers once he’s done.

Steve lays his head down on Bucky’s chest, says, “You were right. Your bed is big enough for the both of us.”

“That mean you’re gonna sleep in here with me?” Bucky asks him.

“Yeah,” Steve says, like it’s obvious, and Bucky grins like an idiot, knowing that Steve can’t see him. Steve goes on, “But you’re not sharing a bed with me when I’m sick, Buck.”

“You gonna let me buy you a new mattress?”

“Probably not,” Steve says, smiling against Bucky’s chest. “But wake me up in a couple of hours. There might be something you could do to change my mind.”


End file.
